The Case of the Green-Dressed Ghost

by Lucy Banks

  “Yeah, down near Torquay,” Mike replied, leaning casually against his desk and knocking off a bundle of wires in the process. “She was a pretty easy case actually, a quick two-hour job. Those are the sort we like. None of these protracted haunting projects. They’re a right pain in the—”

  “Yes, thank you, Mike,” Miss Wellbeloved interrupted firmly. She looked helplessly at Dr Ribero, who shrugged.

  “I’ll go and get her then,” said Pamela. Delving into the deep pockets of her voluminous skirts, she pulled out a key, then puffed over to the door like a sponge bobbing in bathwater.

  “I still don’t think this is very wise,” Miss Wellbeloved muttered. “I do wish you’d say something, Julio.”

  Dr Ribero smiled wryly. “Serena is probably right,” he said slowly. “Only way to convince this boy is to show him. Look at him, Jennifer. You see? He is not believing us yet.”

  Miss Wellbeloved sighed, pressing her arms across her flat, buttoned-up chest, but said nothing more.

  After a minute or so, Pamela emerged from the darkened room clutching what appeared to be a plastic bottle of mineral water. However, as she came closer, Kester could see something shifting inside, something with a faintly greyish tinge, smoky and fiery in the centre. As Pamela held it up, he thought, for one ludicrous moment, that he could detect a small hand, no larger than a daisy-head, pressing against the grooves of the plastic. Then it disappeared, retreating back into the strange, billowing mist.

  “Is that a plastic bottle?” he asked stupidly. He’d never seen anything like it in his life.

  “It’s as good a way of storing spirits as any,” Mike said, with a hint of defensiveness. “Of course, Infinite Enterprises have got state-of-the-art storage devices, but we don’t have the money for those. So water bottles do the job nicely. We just have to make sure none go out with the recycling by mistake.”

  Kester blanched. “I see.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the bottle. There was definitely something in there, but he couldn’t work out what it was. It pulsed, as though aware it was being watched. Kester shivered.

  “Are you ready to let her out?” Serena said wickedly. Her face was full of merriment.

  “Hang on, hang on!” Miss Wellbeloved snapped. “Get the earmuffs please! If you’re going to let her out, I don’t want us all to be deafened. And Serena, only a minute please, then put her right back inside. Is that agreed?”

  Serena nodded, whilst Mike walked back to his desk, fishing out some earmuffs from one of his drawers. He threw Kester a pair, who looked at them in disbelief. What am I doing? he thought incredulously, even as he pulled them down over his ears. He eyed the bottle nervously, unsure what to expect. The entire day was starting to feel rather like a bad dream. Maybe it doesn’t matter what I do, he thought, looking at the others. Maybe I’ll just wake up in a moment. There was comfort in the prospect of waking up in his single bed back home and forgetting that any of this nonsense ever happened.

  Before he had a chance to review the situation more sensibly, Pamela held the bottle at arm’s length and unscrewed the lid in one deft movement. Kester opened his mouth to protest, but was stunned into silence by an overwhelming hiss—a deep, throaty noise that rampaged into the room—bringing with it a huge cloud of black smoke.

  It reminded him of a storybook he had owned as a child. The front cover had depicted a genie, curling enigmatically out of a lamp. What was happening in front of him now was very much like that, only a lot less charming and a lot more terrifying. In fact, he’d never seen anything more revoltingly, stomach-churningly horrible in all his life. It was like all his worst childhood nightmares, bundled together and repackaged for him to enjoy in adulthood.

  Kester stumbled instinctively backwards. He tripped over his feet, nearly falling to the ground, as the cloud rolled and twisted above them, wrenching at itself like a mass of wrestling snakes. Then the screaming started. For one mad moment, he thought it was his own scream. Indeed, he did feel like screaming, and couldn’t be completely sure that he wasn’t making some sort of noise of terror. However, whatever sound was coming from his mouth was completely drowned by the deafening screech of the smoke in front of him. It tore at his eardrums, in spite of the ear muffs, and he fell to his knees, more terrified than he ever had been before.

  What the hell is that thing? he thought crazily, unable to take it in. The sight, the sound, even the clinging wet-leaf smell of it was too much for his brain to process. It was by far and away the most awful thing he had ever witnessed in his entire life. He felt his head start to fuzz, as though someone was slowly squirting expanding foam into his ears.

  He was dimly aware of an arm, draped over his shoulder, plus some other far away, confusing noises, all virtually drowned out by the tinnitus-inducing wail of the thing in front of him. Out of his wits with fear, he looked up, then wished he hadn’t. The cloud had a face. An ugly face. A repulsive, gnarled, cruel face, looming toothily over him. Not to mention a pair of twisted hands, with winter-twig fingers, reaching out, coming straight towards him.

  And, perhaps most confusing of all, a doorway behind her. More maw than door—a ragged tear in the air, like the entrance to a cave. Shimmering, hanging impossibly above the ground. A doorway to another place, another place he didn’t even want to think about imagining.

  His vision began to fluff at the edges and he keeled over, unconscious, onto the office floor.

  Chapter 4: More Doors

  Kester awoke to the sight of a high, white ceiling, almost ecclesiastical in style. Am I in a church? he wondered, with the hint of a smile. He’d always liked churches. Their peacefulness appealed to him, not to mention their stoic conservatism. It was tempting to drift back to unconsciousness again. There was something in his head, a little urgent voice, insisting it would be better to go back to sleep. A whole lot better.

  Why are my ears hurting? A shrill ringing needled at his eardrums, making his head feel like it was being assaulted by an army of angry, vocal rodents. He felt sick. Even more alarmingly, there were people next to him, which he wasn’t expecting. With great reluctance, he turned his head. Five faces floated into focus, studying him with varying degrees of concern. I’m definitely not in a church, he realised, blinking. Then he remembered.

  “Oh dear lord, no,” he said. The awfulness of the memory hurled itself back into his head and he groaned. “Dear god, that was awful.”

  “Ah, you are back with us!” Dr Ribero boomed, clapping his hands. Kester peered up at them, all huddled together like a group of vultures surveying a helpless antelope, from his horizontal position on the sofa. He felt bile rising to his throat, and fought hard to swallow it down.

  “I—what was—? What just happened?” he finally burbled, shaking his head. He sat up, then wished he hadn’t. Blood rushed to his cheeks, making him feel faint again.

  “Well, I knew you’d be scared, but I didn’t think you’d pass out,” Serena said scathingly, kicking a patent heel against the floor.

  “I know, he was like the big sissy, was he not?” Dr Ribero chuckled, nudging her in a conspiratorial manner.

  Miss Wellbeloved scowled. “Julio!” she chastised. “Remember who you’re talking about!”

  Dr Ribero had the decency to look abashed, but not for long. Adjusting his trouser legs, he deposited himself next to Kester with the grace of a landing eagle.

  “My boy, you have seen your first spirit,” he declared, beaming. “And how did it feel?”

  “Horrendous,” Kester said, rubbing his forehead. “What the hell was that thing?” The memory of it was coming back fast, the evil screeching, the swirling black smoke, the terrible face, leering out at him. He shuddered. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep tonight. Or perhaps ever again.

  “Just a very low-grade Bean Si,” Serena sneered. “Gosh, if you can’t cope with one of those, then I don’t know what you’ll be able
to cope with.”

  “Serena, remember he didn’t even believe in spirits before today,” Pamela chastised, flapping her arms at the younger woman like a disapproving hen. “Be kind. He’s very young still. And he is Gretchen’s boy, after all.”

  Kester looked warily around the office, expecting to see the creature still hovering in the air, waiting for him to notice it. Thankfully, the room had returned to normal, and not a wisp of the evil thing remained.

  “Where is it now?” he asked hesitantly.

  “Back in the bottle,” Pamela said, in a soothing voice. “Don’t worry, we’ve put her right back in, and she’s now locked up again in that room. She can’t get out, love; I promise you.”

  “She’s a loud one, isn’t she?” Mike shook his head, as though trying to dislodge water from his ears. “Dunno about you, but my ears are still going. It’s the only thing I really dislike about them actually, that awful noise they make. Always gives me a headache after.”

  “Why was she leaning towards me?” Kester asked. He didn’t want to ask the question, but he felt that he needed to. During the event, he had had the horrible sensation that the Bean Si had been reaching out for him in some way, reaching out for him, and him alone. He very much hoped that he had been mistaken.

  “Yes, I noticed that.” Miss Wellbeloved perched on the armrest of the sofa. “That was most strange. I did wonder if it was due to the fact that you’d recently had a family member die.”

  “It’s normally before the death that they latch on to people though, isn’t it?” Mike interjected. “I’ve not heard of a Bean Si reaching for a human after the death’s happened. They might hang around, scream a bit, unsettle everyone; but they don’t target just one person, do they?”

  “Great, that makes me feel much better,” Kester muttered, massaging his temples. He knew what Mike meant about the headache.

  “Maybe she thought you were handsome and fell in love with you,” Serena said sarcastically. Both Miss Wellbeloved and Pamela shot her a severe look.

  “What was the doorway?” Kester asked, suddenly remembering.

  “What doorway?” Dr Ribero asked.

  “The doorway, behind that creature.”

  “You mean the doorway at the back of the room?”

  Kester shook his head. “No. Not that one. The weird cave-like door. It was like the air had ripped open behind her. It was the oddest thing I’ve ever seen. Even odder than that horrible creature.”

  “Hang on, hang on. Just one minute, please. What do you mean, door?” Dr Ribero asked, suddenly serious.

  Kester straightened himself, addressing the problem of his shirt, which had untucked, revealing his pale belly, which bulged most unflatteringly over his belt. “When that—that thing came out of the bottle, there was a weird door right behind it. It wasn’t like a normal door; it was like—”

  “Yes?” Dr Ribero said, leaning closer. His eyes were gleaming.

  Kester shrank back. “It was probably nothing,” he concluded. “I was so terrified; I would have imagined anything. Tell me, was that creature real? It wasn’t just some horrible joke you were all playing on me, was it?”

  “God, that would be one elaborate practical joke, wouldn’t it?” Serena said sarcastically. “Do you imagine we have a holographic projector system and state-of-the-art, top-volume hi-fi system, rigged up and waiting to trick unsuspecting visitors?”

  “Well, Mike is an IT guy,” Kester replied crossly.

  “Electronics expert,” Mike snapped. “And you’re right. If I wanted to create a machine that produced a realistic Bean Si, I’d certainly have the expertise to do it. But for the record, you were looking at the real thing. No trickery at all, I’m afraid.”

  “That is strange, that you would see a door,” Dr Ribero muttered. He looked up at Miss Wellbeloved, who shrugged.

  “I’d say the whole experience was rather strange,” said Kester, shuddering. The memory was still grotesquely fresh. He didn’t think he’d ever forget that craggy, misty face hanging over him, like a ghastly haunted tree. It was all his worst nightmares, all compressed into one dreadful minute of his life, and he wished fervently that there was a way that he could empty his mind of it, or at least reverse time and never experience any of it.

  He rose to his feet, wobbled, and steadied himself against the nearest desk. “I think I’ll be heading off now,” he announced, fighting to keep his voice from shaking. His head was beginning to throb, and he wanted nothing more than to retreat to the pink-frilled Victorian safety of his B&B. The idea of burying his head into the worn eiderdown and trying his hardest to ignore the events of the day was very appealing indeed.

  “Really, you’re going so soon?” Pamela said, surprised. They all looked instinctively at the clock.

  “I don’t feel very well,” Kester replied. “I think I need to lie down somewhere, take some time to think things through. It’s been quite an afternoon.”

  “I’ll say,” Mike said jovially. “Not every day you meet the father you never knew you had, and come face to face with a banshee.”

  “Indeed,” Kester agreed faintly.

  “Why not join us for a pint after work?” Mike continued, oblivious to Kester’s obvious state of distress. “We’re popping down to the Fat Pig for a drink or two, did you want to come?”

  “That’s very kind of you, but I really think I need to be alone. My head is pounding.”

  “Bloody banshees,” Mike acknowledged. “You’d think someone would ask them to come equipped with painkillers.”

  “Just a moment!” Ribero barked, as Kester scooped up his bag. “How long are you staying in Exeter, hey? When are you returning to Cambridge?”

  “I’ve only booked the one night,” Kester replied. “I’m catching the train back tomorrow.” Tomorrow can’t come soon enough, he thought wistfully, thinking of his own familiar bedroom, his cosy living room, reading in the sunlight in the garden. Except he’s actually the one who paid for that house, not mother, he realised, eyeing Dr Ribero warily. I wonder if he’ll want it back, now she’s dead?

  “Hmm,” Ribero grunted. He scratched his chin, then stood. “Perhaps you would like to stay a little longer, yes? Maybe a few days?”

  “Why?” Kester asked. He knew it wasn’t the politest way of responding, but at present, his desire for social etiquette had rather been overwhelmed by his need to snuggle under the nearest duvet.

  “Ah, well,” the doctor said, coughing. “You know, we have only just met, and it seems a shame for the visit to be so brief, does it not?”

  “I think what Julio is trying to say is that he’d like to get to know you better,” said Miss Wellbeloved with a wry grin.

  Kester studied the floorboards, dismayed and overwhelmed by it all. His head felt as though it was going to explode, not just because of his headache, but because of the confusion of the day. It was simply too much to cope with. He wished that he had never come, that he’d resisted booking the train ticket down, that he’d ignored his mother’s dying wish entirely. So far, it had brought him nothing but rotten luck, and everything he’d discovered since being here had shaken his world to the core.

  “I’ve only booked one night in the bed and breakfast,” he mumbled, hoping the excuse would be adequate. “I don’t think I can extend it any further, I think she was fairly fully booked, what with it being the summer and everything.”

  “Ah, that is not a big problem,” the doctor persisted, patting Kester on the shoulder like a groom calming a skittish horse. “We can find you somewhere. You should stay a little while, see what we do here. What do you think, eh?”

  “I really think I should be getting back,” Kester persisted, edging subtly towards the door. “Though perhaps we can arrange another time, in the future, to meet up again?”

  Dr Ribero shook his head earnestly. “No, Kester, my boy, no. That will no
t do. You are here now, right? So we must make the most of it. After all, we have only just met.”

  “Julio, perhaps don’t force him,” Miss Wellbeloved murmured, narrowing her eyes. Kester shot her a grateful look.

  Ribero shrugged her comment off with a dismissive wave. “Ah, he is not being forced. He just wants the formal invite, don’t you, Kester? It is because he is polite, you see. Raised by his mother to be a good boy. That is all.”

  “Kester, you’re more than welcome to stay at mine for a while, if you’d like,” Pamela offered, bustling up to him like a bobbing balloon. “I’ve only got a small back room, but it’s quite cosy. As long as you don’t mind the dog jumping on you first thing in the morning.”

  “And the fact that her house stinks of mince and mashed potatoes,” Serena added, wrinkling up her nose.

  “Serena, it was just that one time, and that was because I actually had been cooking mince and potatoes,” Pamela chastised. She leaned towards Kester earnestly and added, “it doesn’t smell of that all the time, I promise you.”

  “Well, it still smells of damp dog hairs,” Serena said with a snort. “Your dog moults for England. It’s amazing it’s not completely bald yet. I thought your lounge had a carpet until I realised it was just dog hair I was treading on.”

  “Please don’t exaggerate.”

  “Every time you inhale in your house, you get a nose full of dog hairs.”

  “Serena, will you just give it a rest, please?”

  “Well, I’m just pointing out that—”

  “Please!” Kester shouted. It was a little louder than he had anticipated, and he felt his face redden. The others fell silent, looking at him with mild amazement.

  “Please,” he continued, a little more quietly. “I feel like I’m going a little mad. I’ve not even been here an hour, and in that time I’ve found out I have a father, who I didn’t even know existed, and I’ve also discovered that there are horrible ghosts lurking around the place. I just need some time to myself. I can’t . . . I can’t hear myself think in here.”